This
article was posted on the Internet by Prensa Latina,
the Havana-based news service, on Nov. 11, 2004. It originally appeared onwww.tomdispatch.org

Earlier this year, four gaunt
horsemen in black shrouds cantered down Pennsylvania Avenue. Since no one
complained or even noticed, they grazed their hungry steeds on the White House
lawn. They’ve been there ever since and threaten never to leave.

This interview with them is a Tomdispatch exclusive:

“First Horseman, please state your name for our
readers.”

“My name is Oil and my price is $50 per barrel and
higher yet to come.”

“Fine, and you’re from…?”

“Hubbert’s
Peak.”

“Is that in Colorado?”

No response.

“Are you in Washington
for business or pleasure?”

“Both, actually. While wrecking
the American economy, I’m also hoping to bring immense happiness to a handful
of giant energy corporations.”

“Well, that’s a popular cause in this town, so please
enjoy your stay. Now, Second Horseman, can I have your name for the record.”

“My name is Proliferation, son of Wot
and destroyer of worlds.”

“Wot?”

“The War on Terrorism. Only the
strong and nuclear-armed shall survive, so sayeth
Bush.”

“Well, how about the other side, the opposition party?
Surely, they’ve looked to you for a juicy angle. I mean the horse doo-doos all
over the White House lawn, not to mention…Hey, are you guys even citizens? Do
you have passports?”

“I can assure you,” Proliferation insisted, “none of
that matters. No one wants to admit we’re here.”

“That’s preposterous, we’re afraid of all kinds of
things these days. We tremble at the very thought of anthrax in the mail,
plutonium on the subways, or botulism in our Big Macs. We have regular orange
alerts…”

Plague interrupted. “No, that’s the whole point. You’re
so terrified of the shadows your rulers project on the wall that you can’t see
us standing here, right outside your door.”

“Hmm, so I guess you guys are the real deal?”

“Believe it.”

“So what’s your business plan?”

Chaos cleared his throat. “For generations, the
wealthier 40 percent of your population has lived inside an extraordinary
bubble of privilege.”

“In addition to enormous security of wealth and status,”
Proliferation took over, “your affluent classes have been sheltered from the
bitter winds of history.”

“We’re the bitter winds,” added Plague.

“And we’ll burst your bubble,” Oil promised.

A pale horse neighed.

“Unfortunately my recorder has run out of tape. I’m
afraid we’ll have to end the interview with that.”